Harry Potter and the Hunger Games
by Kentos
Summary: Over a century ago, a Wizarding Civil War in Britain lead to the creation of the Hunger Games. Harry Potter is in his second year at Hogwarts, and is about to find out the true meaning of being a tribute. Rated T to be on the safe side.
1. The Reaping

_Hey there. This is my take on how the Hunger Games would have panned out if it took place in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. There won't be any Hunger Games characters featured in this story, just the concept of the Hunger Games itself. Some characters may seem a bit OOC, but that's due to some changes in the backstory which happened because of the aforementioned Games, and will be explained at a later date. Anyways, I've rambled on long enough... Enjoy!_

* * *

When Harry awoke, he was met with a sudden feeling of dread which he couldn't immediately place. He reached out for his glasses, placed them over his eyes, and was greeted with a sight that made him realise exactly why today, of all days, was especially abhorrent.

Harry should've really expected that Ron wouldn't have slept all night. Ron, who had lost two of his brothers to the Hunger Games. But Harry had been selfish- he'd spent all of his time worrying about whether or not his name would be called out, and hadn't spared a thought for his friend, who had witnessed firsthand the traumas that the Games brought to families.

Ron was extremely pale. Judging from his eyes, he hadn't slept a bit, and he'd spent the majority of the night crying. Harry couldn't blame him really. The stress of having to watch family members go into the Arena was bad enough- but the Ministry of Magic made it mandatory to rewatch some of the 'highlights' of each Games, so that the violence was fresh in everybody's minds. The TV in the Gryffindor Common Room was constantly playing reruns of previous Games, though many people have bewitched it to do otherwise in the past.

Luckily, it seemed that Ron was being comforted by none other than Neville Longbottom. Whatever he'd managed to say to calm the redhead Harry couldn't guess, but he had a strong feeling of respect for Neville- and perhaps jealousy too. Harry should've been the one who had thought about the feelings of his best friend, and the one who should've been there to comfort him. Yet, he couldn't hold this against Neville, who was simply trying to be a good friend.

Harry lifted himself from his bed, and gave Ron a reassuring smile. Ron nodded back. Nothing more needed to be said- or should be said on the subject. There were no words that could fully comfort someone on such a day as the Reaping. Just a grim understanding that if they could find the right words to put their friend's hearts at ease, they would have been said.

They all got dressed in silence. It wasn't long before Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were also awake and getting dressed as well. Then together, they descended into the Common Room. The Wizarding TV, which sat atop the fireplace, didn't display scenes from previous Hunger Games as was to be expected, but instead a puppy which appeared to be rather bemused at the fact it was inside a TV screen. Someone had obviously bewitched it to lighten the mood. However, the usual commentary could still be heard coming from the device, and the record player at the opposite end of the room which was playing some harmonious classical music couldn't drown out the announcements of another death from a past Games.

"I understand it's a foul day," said a voice from behind, and Hermione joined the group whilst Dean and Seamus set off to their own corner of the Common Room. "But they really shouldn't do that to the TV. Nearly Headless Nick told me that the House Elves are constantly having to undo the enchantments people put on it, along with some nasty curses tha-"  
"Give it a rest Hermione," Harry cut in. Hermione's eyes drifted to Ron then opened wide with understanding.  
"Oh Ron, I'm so sorry!" She squeaked out, and quickly pulled him into an embrace to make amends.  
"M'okay," Ron replied sheepishly.

A few first year girls walked past, and it was clear that the majority of them had been crying. Harry watched them as they went past, and could only pity them. The amount of stress that people were put through every year due to this 'event' was sickening, a view which Hermione obviously shared.

"It's absolutely barbaric, isn't it?" She quipped, examining the Common Room. Friends were clumped together here and there in small groups, talking quietly, with an air that it may be the last time they ever get to converse. "When I'm older, I'm hoping to join the Ministry so that I can abolish this horrid tradition."

Harry was certain that Hermione continued to talk, but he didn't pay attention. Ron clearly wasn't taking it in either, so Hermione resorted to unloading her viewpoints on Neville. Giving him a sympathetic smile, Harry lead Ron out of the common room, as he had just heard the name, "Charles Weasley," being spoken from the TV.

Knowing there wasn't much point delaying the moment any longer, together they navigated their way to the Great Hall. Besides, in a few minutes, an announcement would ring out throughout the school demanding all students gather there. If this call was ignored, that's when they sent out the Hit Wizards to gather those that refused to make an appearance.

Ron took a place next to his older brother George, and Harry followed suit. The entirety of the Weasley clan had gathered there, and they each looked as distraught as Ron, some perhaps more so. Percy was sat next to Ginny, whispering soothing words into her ear, and George just appeared to be staring out into space. With the arrival of Ron however, they all soon began talking, trying to reassure one another, and somehow Harry felt as though this was a very personal conversation that he shouldn't be overhearing.

So instead, he tuned out and examined the table at the front of the hall where all of the teachers were sat. As though to add another cruel twist to the sickening event, only past victors of the Hunger Games could apply to be a teacher at Hogwarts. These teachers would then be responsible for teaching the next generations of tributes.

The majority of the teachers looked extremely downhearted- Hagrid appeared to have broken out into tears. Professor McGonagall was trying her best to look stern, to no avail. The only two teachers with opposing reactions were Snape, who was as impassive as usual, and Professor Lockhart, who was giving his patented, dashing smile. On a day like this! Harry felt infuriated.

Harry wondered how bad it must feel to be a teacher. Not only having to have to go through the horrors of the Hunger Games and survive, but then having to teach hundreds of students, constantly knowing that some of these will be doomed to die. Having to try and train them to kill their fellow students, and finally the pain when their tributes were killed anyway. The pain of knowing they tried their best, and yet couldn't keep these children alive. Year after year.

Harry's eyes found Professor Dumbledore, whose magnificent blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Albus Dumbledore, who had taken part in, and won, the very first Hunger Games. Albus Dumbledore, one of only two First Years in the history of the Hunger Games to become a victor. Teachers could only train tributes that were in the same year as they were when they were victors. That meant Dumbledore, every year, had the responsibility of trying to keep four First Years alive. Dumbledore, who was ancient, and had taught at Hogwarts for several decades- countless generations being trained under him.

And only one other First Year has ever become a victor.

Harry wondered how this must feel. Countless First Years must have been trained by Dumbledore, most likely well over one hundred. And they had all died. Harry wondered what it was that stopped Dumbledore from cracking from the sheer weight of this knowledge. What stopped any of the teachers from cracking under pressure.

Perhaps that was Snape's deal, Harry had caused him to be the hate-filled being that he was. But, Harry reminded himself, being a victor of the Games didn't mean that Snape was forgivable. Just last year, another victor of the Hunger Games- Professor Quirrel, had tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Though in hindsight, Harry had to silently thank the man, deranged as he was. The golden trio's attempts to stop Voldemort's resurrection that year had distracted them greatly from the horrors of the Games.

"Hem hem."

The sweet, venomously polite cough of Dolores Umbridge filled the Great Hall as she strolled to the front, flanked by Hit Wizards. Harry found Hermione seated next to him- her arrival having gone unnoticed by him due to being so deep in thought. The Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Umbridge had for many years now held the surprisingly fitting title of Reaper. It would be her that would pick the names of those doomed children from the ministry-styled hat, (originally the Ministry tried using the Sorting Hat, yet it refused all attempts at enchanting it to do something different to it's intended purpose. A popular rumour is that the Sorting Hat also sent off a few well-aimed insults, which is why it has it's battle-worn appearance.)

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to welcome you all to our 100th Hunger Games!" When this was met with a mediocre response, Umbridge pouted then started again. "Now now children. Remember, the Minister himself might be watching this," she pointed her wand to a floating orb that had followed her in, "And I'm sure he'd be very disappointed if you weren't to join in the festivities."

The thinly veiled insult was rather clear. The students themselves, or perhaps their families, would be punished if they weren't good sports.

"Now then, let's try this again. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you all to our 100th Hunger Games!" Cheers and claps spread out throughout the audience, though it was very half-hearted. Umbridge pretended not to notice this meager response and continued.

"Yes, how quickly does time go by?" she chuckled at this, as though remembering delightful memories from her past. From Harry's knowledge of Umbridge, he wouldn't be surprised if she was one of the people who relished in the idea of the Hunger Games. And Harry wasn't surprised at all when she descended into her usual speech.

"In response to a foolish minority," each word was punctuated here, "who believed they could challenge the might of the Ministry, the Wizengamot was forced to put in place, for the betterment of the Ministry of the Magic, the Stature of Secrecy and indeed the entire International Confederation of Wizards, the prized event we now know as the Hunger Games."

Pause for breathe and fiendish smile.

"Twenty-eight children, as representations of those idiotic rebels, were sent as offerings to the Arena, where they would battle it out, facing challenges both mental and physical, until there was only one survivor- our victor." Umbridge let out a happy sigh, again to give the impression that this was a joyous occasion. "Yes, one hundred years ago today, from this very hat," she gestured the ministry-styled hat that had been set upon an ornate stool by the Hit Wizards, "Came the name of one of our most prized victors, and the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A personal friend of mine.."

Harry doubted this statement very much, and was glad to see Dumbledore raising a quizzical eyebrow behind the back of the Ministry official.

"Albus Dumbledore. And in celebration of our one hundredth Hunger Games, we would now like to ask the esteemed Professor to give a few words." A few claps here and there, again halfhearted. The Ministry officials scattered momentarily so that the audience could get a clear view of the Headmaster. He sighed, lifted himself up off of his seat, and walked towards the front of the table.

The Great Hall went silent, eager to hear what words of wisdom he would display. Slowly and deliberately, the aged wizard took a deep breath, before beginning. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thankyou."

With that, he took his seat as the audience erupted into true applause. Such straightforward and obvious refusal to partake in the activity was reckless, and surely the Headmaster would be punished dearly. Then again, at the age of one hundred and eleven, he probably didn't have much to lose. Plus, such a famed celebrity and genius wizard- the man who defeated Grindelwald, had discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood, the man who had given so much to the wizarding community as a whole, couldn't simply be killed off by the Ministry. Such an act would certainly inspire a rebellion.

"Well," Umbridge said in a huff, taking her place at the front once more. "Very well then. I'm sure that the Minister will find your speech very... inspiring, Professor Dumbledore." Her words practically dripped with poison, but Dumbledore appeared to be unfazed.

"Now then, I believe we have dawdled here long enough, onto the Reaping. For those of you amongst the audience," she looked directly into the floating orb and gave a wink, which horrified Harry to no end. "Whom need reminding, or those sat in front of me today who do not fully understand the usual procedure, I shall now go over how the Reaping works.  
"Twenty-eight students are picked in total. Each of the seven year groups here at Hogwarts will offer up four students, each being a member of one of the Four Houses, two boys and two girls. They will then line up at the front, next to their respective mentor. These mentors will then have a week in which to train them in whatever way they can, after which, they shall be placed within the Arena, and the Hunger Games shall begin!

"Before we undergo the Reaping, I shall ask our mentors to come to the front, in order of course. May I welcome to the stage, our First Year mentor... Professor Albus Dumbledore!"

The crowd erupted again, still quite pleased with the Headmaster's casual rebellious statement. Though this time, the cheers had lost their vigor. For the Reaping was about to begin.

"The Second Year mentor... Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Lockhart took centre stage and bowed. The cheers were almost as strong at those for Dumbledore, and Umbridge noticeably blushed as he passed. Harry groaned inwardly, and prayed to Merlin that he wouldn't be picked, simply because he knew that idiot Lockhart surely couldn't teach them anything useful.

"The Third Year mentor... Professor Filius Flitwick!"

Professor Flitwick hobbled over, feebly waving with his miniature hands.

"The Fourth Year mentor... Professor Pomona Sprout!"

As Professor Sprout took centre stage, the amount of people applauding was obviously lessening. Whatever energy they had to cheer was slowly dissipating as it came closer and closer to the dreaded Reaping.

"The Fifth Year mentor... Professor Severus Snape!"

A random student from the Slytherin table, a seventh year who appeared to be part troll, stood up and shouted, "Hell yeah Slytherin!" That entire side of the room burst out in renewed applause for their Head of House, and Snape stood at the front of the hall smirking, basking in his glory.

"Now, now, Mr Flint," Snape said smoothly, the applause dying down. "I'm sure that wasn't... Necessary," but there was a glint in his eye that showed he appreciated it nonetheless. As Snape went to take his place, the cheers begun again, though slowly subsided once more.

"The Sixth Year mentor... Professor Minerva McGonagall!"

"Hell yeah Gryffindor!" Shouted Percy Weasley, who shot out of his chair, raised his wand in the air, and fired golden sparks into the air, which exploded into red fireworks. The Gryffindor table roared with applause, and some of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw joined in, just to show their mutual dislike for Slytherin house.

"Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said when the applause died down. She wasn't taking the cheer in stride like Snape. In fact, she appeared absolutely livid. "We shall not have an outburst like that again. Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Takin' points from her own House!" Seamus whispered down the table in shock. But Harry understood. Professor McGonagall seemed to know that Percy would be punished for his outburst, and was trying to diffuse whichever tortures were being planned for the boy by giving him a fair punishment in front of everyone. Hopefully then, the Ministry wouldn't press further charges.

"And finally," Umbridge continued, severely disgruntled by the constant interruptions. "The Seventh Year mentor... Professor Cybil Trelawney!"

After the outbursts for the previous two teachers, the praise that Trelawney, a teacher Harry hadn't even seen before except at the last Reaping, was substandard to say the least. During the polite clap, Harry turned to Hermione and whispered, "Who is Professor Trelawney?"  
"She's the Divination teacher," Hermione whispered back warily. "She says she can see the future, and that's how she won her Games. Nobody believes her though. She spends all her time in her room drinking, she's the worst mentor to have."

Harry tried to imagine that, a mentor who spent so much time intoxicated that they simply couldn't assist in the training for the Games. Thinking about it, Harry couldn't remember hearing about a seventh year who had won the Games. Harry himself had only been present for one Games in his First Year, and hadn't payed much attention to it, but he knew it had been won by a (then) Third Year, Cedric Diggory.

"Of course, us here at the Ministry," Umbridge babbled on, "want to make this event extra special," she scanned the crowd, and her gaze caught Harry's, and Harry was certain she spent a second longer observing him. "So we hope you have a happy Hunger Games, and remember," she giggled as she prepared to unleash her signature line, "May the odds be ever in your favour."

"Alright then," Umbridge said in her bright, misplaced happy tones. "Let the Reaping...Begin!"

She placed her hand into the hat, and Harry saw Percy wrap an arm around Ginny, whispering in her ear. Gryffindor was always picked first out of the hat, and as Ginny was also a First Year, that meant the piece of paper held in Umbridge's podgy hand could bear her name.

"Gryffindor's First Year Tribute," she said dramatically, opening the piece of paper in her fingers. "Is..." She held the paper up to the light, as though she wished to read it better. It was clear she loved building up the tension for the crowds.

"Miss Ginevra Weasley."

"No!" Ron shouted, grabbing hold of his sister's hand. Percy held her close, staring daggers at the Hit Wizard who was now approaching. George's head fell to the table, and it was obvious he had started weeping. When the Hit Wizard got close, Percy stood up and pointed his wand at the man, as if challenging him to take a step further.

"Don't Percy," Ginny whispered, and she stood up, and quietly walked over to the Hit Wizard. Despite his challenging nature, Percy didn't try to stop her, and collapsed into his seat again. Hermione rushed over and pulled Ron into an embrace.

Harry simply watched as Ginny walked to the front, unguided, as the Hit Wizard took his position next to the Hufflepuff table, clearly anticipating more protests when the next name was called out. Ginny, who was quiet and shy, and supposedly a big fan of Harry's as well. Another Weasley being sent into the Hunger Games. Ripping the family apart even more.

Harry didn't even pay attention as the next three names were called out, a boy from Hufflepuff and Slytherin, a girl from Ravenclaw. None of them appeared to have a family, as no one stood out to stop them from being taken. Harry tried to imagine how that must feel, to have no one protest your being picked.

But then his mind was snapped from it's wondering as he payed attention once more to the Reaping. Because now, Umbridge would be picking out the name of the Second Year Gryffindor tribute. Could it be him? Harry supposed that'd be better than if Ron was chosen. Harry had heard rumours that they purposefully picked the relatives of past tributes to spice things up. Whether or not this was valid, Harry couldn't tell, but he wouldn't put it past the Ministry.

"The Second Year Gryffindor tribute is..." As her eyes looked at the parchment in her hand, her pupils seemed to engorge and her face began to split in half as a repulsive smile was spread across it. "Oh my!" She said, clearly overjoyed by this turn of events. "Harry Potter!"

* * *

_Right, that's the first chapter. Please review so I can know whether or not I should continue. Constructive critisism is also welcome! :)_


	2. Tributes

_Thanks for those that read/reviewed my first chapter! It's my first story on here, so every piece of feedback really means a lot to me. Anyways, here's Chapter Two. Sorry if it's boring, I always felt that there were characters in Harry Potter that had so much potential, but were never expanded upon. So here's my attempt, I guess. Let you get to know the characters before I kill them all off mercilessly. ;)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Harry blinked.

The Great Hall had broken out into muttering. The Boy Who Lived, to enter the Hunger Games? The one who vanquished the Dark Lord, to be so easily surrendered to the petty Games of the Ministry? Some people began to shout out against this. Because it was so obvious to them- Harry Potter gave the people hope, as the one who defeated Voldemort when the Ministry had failed. He demonstrated his skills last year against Professor Quirrel. The Ministry clearly wanted him out of the way- to completely destroy the morale of the people.

"Oh- Harry," Hermione whispered, tears running down her face. Harry felt Neville's hand patting him on the back, Dean whispering "Good luck," to him from across the table. But Harry only looked directly at Ron, and mouthed more than said, because he knew that if a Ministry official caught wind of his words, he'd be reprimanded greatly, "I'll keep her safe."  
"Thankyou," Ron mouthed back, and with that, Harry stood up. He didn't view the faces of those he walked past, the teachers at the front, where he could hear Hagrid loudly blowing his nose, he simply stared straight ahead. When he arrived next to Lockhart, the teacher nudged him, clearly taking stride in this turn of events. "Living legend Gilderoy Lockhart mentoring The Boy Who Lived, this'll make frontline news- now give me a smile!"

Umbridge had to do her irritating little coughs three times before the Hall calmed down once more. But there was still a lot of tension in the air. As if some unbroken taboo had been broken. Because to those that were related to tributes of past Games, or even descendants of the original rebels, it was so apparent to them that The Boy Who Lived getting chosen for the Hunger Games was obviously a message to the people of the Wizarding World- that the Ministry of Magic called the shots.

"The Second Year Hufflepuff tribute is... Susan Bones!"

Harry had never really spoken to Susan, though they often found themselves in the same classroom. But Harry felt a knot twisting inside of him at the sight of her- as if he was going to try to keep Ginny alive, for the sake of Ron and George and Percy, and for Mrs Weasley who had been so kind to him over the summer, then Susan would have to die.

She took her place next to Harry, squeezed his hand once, and although tears were streaming down her face, she smiled. Harry had heard her family was in the Ministry- her aunt was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Susan couldn't be seen showing dislike for the Hunger Games.

"The Ravenclaw tribute is... Padma Patil!"

Ouch. Harry saw Padma of Ravenclaw make her way over- the identical twin of Parvati, who had been in Gryffindor House with Harry. Parvati Patil, who was the First Year Gryffindor tribute from the previous year. And after losing her sister, Padma would now be entering the Hunger Games. Harry tried to imagine how her parents would be reacting, but it was too upsetting of an image.

Instead, Harry tried to imagine the reactions of the Dursleys. Would they cheer? Would they, the sick human beings that they were, even stoop so low as to be happy that Harry was a contestant in a most likely lethal game? They'd probably buy front row tickets, Harry mused.

"Draco Malfoy!"

Harry looked up and saw his arch nemesis walking up to the front. He looked absolutely petrified. To see that daddy's boy, the smug snake who thought he was on top of everything and better than his peers, knocked off of his pedestal, almost made Harry smile. Almost. For Harry wouldn't wish this fate on anyone, not even Malfoy.

Which got Harry thinking- would he wish this fate on Voldemort?

"And now for third years..."

And so it went on. Some names Harry knew- Angelina Johnson from Quidditch, for example. Some he knew only on face value- the seventh year Slytherin boy, who he now knew was called Marcus Flint, that had earlier screamed, "Hell yeah Slytherin!" And looked all too happy to have the honour of taking part in the Hunger Games.

Harry didn't even pay attention to the following speech delivered by Umbridge. He looked over to Ginny, who had her head in her hands. And then he examined his fellow Second Years, all of whom would be under the tutelage of Professor Lockhart. Malfoy, in his shocked panic. Padma, who's eyes looked forward unseeingly. Susan, cracks appearing in her brave face. Harry looked up and down the line at all of the other twenty-eight tributes, and realised.

Only one would be coming out alive.

Soon enough, after several speeches by Ministry officials Harry did not recognise nor care for, they were all flocked away from the Great Hall with applause following their footsteps. Professor Lockhart wasted no time in escorting the four Second Years to his classroom. Once inside, he walked to his desk, turned, and examined each student in turn, as though he was seeing them for the first time.

"Alright, you'll all need a bit of shaping up, but I don't doubt you'll do brilliantly," he announced brightly. Harry wondered if Lockhart was finally seeing sense- that he was actually trying to help. Perhaps he wasn't as incompetent as Harry first assumed. "This photo shoot will be fantastic!"  
There goes any hope that Lockhart was competent.  
"So, are you going to teach us how you won your Games?" Malfoy asked, getting straight to the point, which Harry was thankful for.  
"Yes, yes..." Lockhart said quietly, having clearly not taken in anything that the Slytherin had said. "Your father would be more than happy to fund for the dress-robes, right Draco?"  
"My father?" Draco spluttered out in sheer disbelief of the cheek. "I think you'll find you have more than enough wealth saved up to fund your pet projects, Professor," he countered.  
"You shouldn't talk to a teacher like that!" Susan said angrily, then going violently red. Harry had already figured out that Susan had developed a crush on the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
"Quite right!" Lockhart agreed, smiling dashingly at Susan, whose knees appeared to buckle. "Now then, let me just find my quill," Padma held one out to him immediately, "And I shall write a letter to my personal photographer immediately."  
"Excuse me Sir," Harry interrupted. "Taking pictures is all well and good, but when are you actually going to start teaching us?"

"Teaching you?" Lockhart queried, as though this thought had never crossed his mind before. "I suppose we best start by showing you some past Games. Get you to learn the ropes, and all that. After all, I realised that the Marauding Nundu of South African fame was merely an illusion cast by a group of experienced wizards, due to observing it's environment and catching on that a Nundu simply couldn't fit in such spaces! A riveting tale, I might add. It'll be published next month, in my upcoming autobiography- Nudging the Nundu."

Lockhart looked about, as though remembering that he wasn't at a press conference, and backtracked a bit. "I'll have those tapes for you tomorrow. For now, you might as well scamper off and enjoy yourselves."

And with that, the oddball that was Gilderoy Lockhart departed, most likely heading for his private quarters so that he could get in touch with his contacts.

"Enjoy ourselves?" Draco spluttered, clearly not deluded by his mentor's calm demeanor.  
"He took my quill..." Padma muttered quietly, as though this was the most important matter to worry about at the moment.  
"You shouldn't be too worried Malfoy," Harry began, knowing that now he had a death sentence, he might as well get out of the way his suspicions. "I'm sure you could get your little _friend_ in the Chamber of Secrets to help you win."  
"What was that, Potter?" Malfoy asked, drawing his wand. Harry drew his, too, having already anticipated his rival's response.  
"Now this is just stupid, stop it the pair of you!" Susan shouted out, stepping between them. Both of the would-be duelers were taken back by this move and slowly withdrew their weapons. After a few moments silence, she continued. "So this is it then... The Games?"

And with such a simple statement, the full weight of the idea seemed to finally hit Harry. He was either going to die within a week's time, or he would be forced to kill his fellow classmates. Either way, there was no way that he'd come out of the Hunger Games. Even if he won. The resulting person would not be Harry Potter. It would be some monster, a murderer, no better than Voldemort himself.

"I'll see you in the Games, Potter," Malfoy quipped, before barging past Susan Bones and exiting the room.

Now there was just the three of them. Harry hadn't really spoken to either of them throughout his year-and-a-bit of being in the same class as them. And now, for the next week, Harry supposed they would be the closest things he would have to friends.  
And after that week, he would be expected to kill them.

The silence lingered. What could they say to each other? Harry certainly couldn't think of a good conversation starter, especially at a time like this. So they stood together in silence, simply looking to each other for comfort. It wasn't long before Padma Patil broke down crying and left the room as well.

"It must be hard for her, having lost her sister," Susan whispered, taking a few steps closer to Harry. "Have any of your family been in the Games?"  
"I wouldn't know," Harry replied honestly, giving a half-hearted smile. "What about you?"  
"My aunt," Susan replied, and she subconsciously started playing with her hair.  
"The one who works for the ministry?"  
"Yes." Susan seemed a bit off put by the mention of this. Being related to someone so high up in the Ministry's ranks had attracted a lot of hate, clearly.  
"Couldn't she ask Umbridge or the Minister to choose someone else?" Harry queried. He'd never heard of such a thing happening before, but then again, how many people were related to such high-ranking Ministry officials? And how set in stone was a Reaping? Surely if the child of a Minister was called out of the hat, they'd interfere? Then again, their name might not be put in the hat in the first place.

"Of course not," Susan replied condescendingly, as though Harry was a child that'd made a stupid suggestion. "She'd risk losing her job at the ministry!"  
"That doesn't sound like too bad of a thing, considering they support events like this," Harry rebuffed, gesturing around him as if to remind the girl of the situation they were in. She opened her mouth, clearly enraged, but then closed it. For a few seconds, she stood there, controlling her anger, before sighing and saying:  
"Some people join a bad regime in order to do good. You can't judge each individual on the acts of the entire organisation, especially when some of these people have nothing to do with any of the bad things. I'd have hoped that The Boy Who Lived would understand that."  
"Joining the bad guys to do good? I'm sorry, but I haven't heard of any messiahs who signed up to serve Voldemort!" Susan's eyes opened in shock at this, as every person's did when the name was said, but then the emotion changed to something else- pain?

"My uncle, Edgar Bones, was one of the few wizards who swore their loyalty to Dumbledore when You-Know-Who started getting powerful. He fought alongside some of the greatest wizards around, your parents included." Harry blinked, baffled. He'd never known that his parents had actually fought Voldemort. Just that they had been targeted by him. Perhaps that was why Voldemort set out to kill them, Harry reasoned.

"He got on the bad side of the Death Eaters- the servants of You-Know-Who. Almost eleven years ago, they came to his house. It was Christmas Day. My grandparents were around at the time," her voice cracked, and Harry knew this story wouldn't end well. "They were all sat around the table, sharing out the turkey. My grandparents, my uncle, his wife, and their kids." Harry definitely did not like where this was going.

"They were killed. All of them. I've never known my uncle or aunt. Or my grandparents. Or my three cousins- the oldest of them was only six." Tears were now welling in her eyes. "They died because they stood out against Him. And I would have thought that the one who finally defeated You-Know-Who would respect their sacrifice and be a decent human being."

Susan burst into tears and fled the room also, leaving Harry very confused about the days event. And it wasn't even lunch time yet.

* * *

_Right, that's it, chapter two done and dusted. Also, I've decided that I will reply to some of the reviews I've had at the end of each chapter, because they raise good points in their comments and my answers will help you give you some background information to this world. Of course, if you'd prefer to remain anonymous for any reason, let me know and I'll edit it._

_ - _**umcihi1**_  
I decided that Harry should be relatively young in this, as I think if he were older, he'd most likely be actively rebelling against the Ministry because of the Hunger Games. But I also wanted him to have been in the Wizarding World long enough to understand the premise of the Games. Therefore, he's a second year! To Harry, and most Muggle-borns, the Games are a blemish on what would otherwise be a wonderful world to live in.  
_

_Also, with the way that the system works in this story, (four students picked from each house for each year, two girls and two boys,) I don't think that the idea of volunteering for someone would flow very well. Sadly, Harry can't be a hero all the time, but he'll have his chance to shine, don't you worry. ;)  
_

_That's all folks!_


	3. Lunchtime Shenanigans

_Chapter Three, here we are! I hope this chapter isn't as dull as the last one, but I can't promise you anything. Harry's "training" will start next chapter however, so that's something to look forward to! Anyways, on with the show!_

* * *

When lunch did arrive, Harry wasn't surprised to find that he wasn't hungry. Besides, Harry knew that for the next week, large magical tapestries would be hung within the Great Hall, their colours constantly shifting to take the shape of the chosen Tributes. Reporters would be interviewing whoever they could corner to find out anything about the contestants, and any tribute spotted there would be swarmed with attention.

And of course, there was the bets- gambling on who would win, who would die first, who'd be the first to kill a First Year. It was something Harry found disgusting, and he knew that for the remainder of his life before the Games, he must avoid the Great Hall like the plague.

Therefore, he found himself sat on his bed in Gryffindor Tower, completely alone. This would be how he'd spend most of his spare time, Harry reasoned. As a Tribute, he would no longer be required to attend classes. Besides, most teachers would be trying to train their tributes. Most competent teachers, that is.

He layed his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, lost in thought. How would he say goodbye to everyone? To his friends, Ron and Hermione, and Neville and Dean and Seamus. To the Weasley family. Hagrid. Hell, at some stage Harry even thought about maybe writing a letter to the Dursleys. To let them know that they'd never see him again. At least someone would react positively to this turn of events.

It was too hard for him to find the right words to say goodbye to anyone, that much Harry knew after about two minutes. Maybe it was the stress of the day, and how emotionally unhinged he was feeling, but the concept of selecting his final words to those that had been so important to him was utterly bizarre. Nothing came to mind that seemed fitting for the occasion. He couldn't simply wrap up a years worth of memories into a few sentences.

So instead his mind wandered onto the topic of his worldly possessions, and who would look after them when he was gone. Immediately he knew that his money and Gringotts Vault that he inherited from his parents would be given to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Harry couldn't think of any other people kinder than they, or whom deserved it more.

Hedwig. Harry's stomach twisted in a knot at the mere idea of having to get rid of his faithful companion. As much as she could probably survive in the wild, Harry wasn't quite ready to see her go. Perhaps she'd go to Hagrid, who purchased Hedwig in the first place. If he could tame Fluffy, then surely he'd have no problem with an owl?

And so these ideas came and went. His Invisibility Cloak- which had once been his father's, would go to Hermione. She'd enjoy studying it and wouldn't get up to much mischief, and would understand the symbolic gesture behind Harry letting her have the only item that Harry knew once belonged to his dad. His Nimbus 2000 to Neville. Not really much of a flier, but he'd enjoy it none the less.

Harry was so lost in thought that he nearly dived from his bed when a very loud crack! punctured the silence of the room. Opening his eyes and sitting up, Harry came face to face with one of the few people he really didn't need to see right now.

"Dobby, what are you doing here?"

A rhetorical question, of course. Due to Dobby's disturbances during the year thusfar, Harry already had an accurate assumption on what the creature was about to say.

"Harry Potter must leave Hogwarts!"  
"We've been through thi-," Harry hesitated a moment. "Wait, is this the danger you were talking about? Getting entered into the Games?"  
"Oh no, Harry Potter. Much worse than your silly Games!" Dobby responded, making it sound as though the Hunger Games were a walk in the park to him. "Bad things are happening at Hogwarts, Harry Potter. Terrible things!"  
"No offence Dobby, but I have more important things to worry about." Apparently, Dobby would disagree greatly with this statement, because he begun to shake his head vigourously.

"Oh Harry Potter, Dobby knows! Dobby knows of how our beloved hero Harry Potter has been thrown ruthlessly into the Hunger Games. Dobby knows, Sir. Dobby's master hasn't stopped talking about it."  
Harry already had an inkling of an idea that Dobby's wizarding master wasn't the most pleasant of people, judging from the injuries Dobby sported, the rags he wore and general malnourishment. So when Dobby said that his master hadn't stopped talking about it, Harry didn't think this man was very supportive of him. Rather, that he was happy that Harry was going into the Hunger Games.  
"Glad to hear it," Harry sighed sarcastically. "So unless you have something important to tell me, I'd rather be left alone."

"But Harry Potter, Dobby does have something important to say! Very important!" Dobby replied giddily, bouncing up and down on the bed as if to show the magnitude of the importance of the information he was about to relay. "Doesn't Harry Potter see? Being entered into the Games- it's all part of His plan, yes!"

"Who's plan?"

"Bad Dobby!"

Before Harry could stop him, the House Elf had dived off of the bed and ran towards the wooden door of the room, before beginning to bash his head against it. Harry got up out of his bed and started in the House Elf's direction, until he saw Dobby turn suddenly rigid, as though he'd heard something.

The House Elf turned towards Harry, and said, "Beware, Harry Potter." He clicked his fingers and a loud crack! signaled his exit.  
About five seconds later, Hermione opened the door.

She looked as bad as Harry felt. Her face was flushed and her hair was wild and untamed, as though stress had gotten the best of her. However, she put on a smile nonetheless, and in her hand she carried a tray of food, so Harry wasn't complaining. He gratefully accepted the food and began digging in, whilst Hermione sat silently next to him.

"I've just got back," Hermione begun. Harry didn't bother looking in her direction, and instead began tackling a loaf of bread. Harry knew that she'd understand anyway, why he wouldn't want to talk. That if he opened his mouth to speak, he was likely to break down then and there. And so Hermione did all of the talking for them.

"Ginny was crying in the bathroom, so Ron and I went to try and cheer her up," Harry made a grunt which may have been perceived as a sign of acknowledging what was being said, but it was too muffled by the turkey leg in his mouth to be interpreted properly. "Her crying set off Moaning Myrtle, you know, from Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party? It was horrible, I had to get away."

Nothing else was said after that. Harry finished his meal in peace, put the tray by the side of his bed, and then rested his head in Hermione's lap. Whilst he closed his eyes and let his mind drift, she absentmindedly played with his hair. The warmth of the food inside of him, the comfort of being with her, the calming strokes of his hair- it wasn't long before Harry drifted off to sleep.

When Harry awoke again, Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

Harry stretched and wiped the sleep from his eyes. For some reason, he fancied a walk. To take his mind off of things. Besides, he wouldn't get many chances to walk the grounds of Hogwarts anymore. So he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and instinctively slipped it on, before going down the stairs from the Boy's Dormitory to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Dinner must've been over, by the looks of things. Many students had now gathered in the Common Room, talking amongst themselves. Some gloomily, some ecstatically. Harry couldn't resist the temptation to look towards the mantle piece above the fireplace at the TV. His face was very clearly displayed on it, a picture that Harry never knew had been taken, his scar very clearly showing through his fringe.

Harry left the Common Room and wandered aimlessly through the castle, waiting for the masses of people finishing dinner to finally get to where they were wanting to be. When the crowds had died down, Harry made his way towards the Entrance Hall, and passed through the large doors that served as the entrance to Hogwarts.

But when Harry was outside, he felt rather lost. Where was he going? His feet automatically took him in the direction of Hagrid's hut, and Harry didn't resist this. If there was one person that could make him feel happy, Harry reasoned, Hagrid would be the man. Besides, hadn't Hagrid once been a tribute of the Hunger Games? Hadn't he won a Games of his own? Harry had never asked about it, but he supposed now was as good of a time as any.

Something caught Harry's eye though. Two figures walking along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They were both instantly recognisable. One, in brilliant purple robes, his white beard clashing against them brilliantly. His bedazzling blue eyes like beacons. And the other, draped in black, as though he was the elder wizard's shadow.

Suddenly changing course, Harry slowly made his way towards them. Why? He didn't really know. But for some reason, Harry felt as though these two Mentors, straying so close to the Forbidden Forest, were clearly not wanting to be overheard. All the more reason to spark Harry's curiousity.

Albus Dumbledore stopped in his pacings, and after taking three steps, so did Snape. He turned to observe the Headmaster, who was slowly bending down to pick up a flower. However, Harry saw the elderly man's wand emerge from his robes, and suddenly the wind changed. Fog began to emerge from the Forest, slightly obscuring the two from view.

Harry, being so close up, could understand the brilliance behind it. As Dumbledore had bent over, his body mostly obscured the wand in his other hand. And the mist he had obviously summoned obscured the Potions Master's wand as well, so outsiders wouldn't be able to see the spell that he had cast.

"Oh, look, a lily!" The Headmaster said brightly, straightening up once more and showing the flower to the other professor.  
"No one'll be able to hear us unless they are standing within a three metre radius," Snape stated, clearly not wishing to amuse his counterpart's odd mannerisms. "What is it you wish to discuss?"  
"I apologise for all of the secrecy, Severus, but you know as well as I do that the eyes and ears of the Ministry will be trained all over the school for the next few weeks."  
"Get to the point, I don't think anyone will believe for a minute that we'll be spending the next twenty minutes rooted in this spot simply to observe a flower."  
"True, Severus. Too true. Time, it would seem, is of the essence. As much as I trust your word, I must ask to see your left forearm."

"My lef-," Snape hesitated, his right hand subconsciously scratching a spot upon his left forearm, as though it irritated him. "There have been no changes to the Dark Mark, I can assure you Headmaster."  
"Severus, please-"

Obscured by the mist, an outsider wouldn't notice the Potions professor lift up the sleeve of his robes, to show a patch of skin where it seemed a tattoo had once existed, though it was very faded so that if Harry wasn't purposefully looking at his forearm for a 'Dark Mark,' whatever that was, he'd have never spotted it.

"What does this have to do with anything, Albus?"  
"You know very well Severus that this has to do with everything," Dumbledore replied, though he wasn't scornful in his response. "If Lord Voldemort is not gaining power... 'and either must die at the hand of the other.'"  
"So you are saying... So long as the Dark Lord is not revived... The boy lives?"  
"Yes Severus, I am saying exactly that. It is now our priority more than ever to prevent the resurrection of Voldemort. After his attempts to claim the Stone last year, and the recent reopening of the Chamber of Secrets... I fear that he is once more attempting to gather strength."

They stood in silence for a moment, and then the aged wizard sighed.

"Such a pretty flower," Dumbledore muttered, before opening his hand and letting it blow away in the breeze. He walked past Snape and towards the castle. The Potions Master remained still for many moments, before turning too and following the Headmaster back towards Hogwarts.

Leaving Harry to ponder over what he had just heard.

* * *

_Well, there you go! Having set this in Harry's second year, I knew that there was no way I could complete this story without somehow including everyone's favourite House Elf, Dobby. I'm not sure if we'll see him again, but I certainly hope so. Crazy things are bound to happen with that guy around. =D_

_- Hungergamerslover04_

_I'm glad you're enjoying it. :) My significant other gets back from holiday in two days, so I'm not sure how frequently I can put these things up. But I'm make a special effort to post them as often as possible, just for your benefit. ;)_


	4. Past Games

_Hey everyone! I'm soooo sorry that I haven't uploaded a chapter in a while, but there has been a lot of personal issues going on in my life at the moment. However, I promise that I'll release these chapters more frequently in future. =) So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!_

* * *

Harry had managed to make it back into the Gryffindor Common Room without being spotted, though he was forced to take a detour on the fifth floor as Peeves was running amok- specifically, he'd managed to put Mrs Norris in a baby's onesie and was flailing the screaming feline at anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

He wasn't sure how long he'd spent just sat there, with his Invisibility Cloak wrapped about him, in the corner of the Common Room. Simply watching people come and go. His mind still seemed to need a lot of time to register the day's events.

The Hunger Games. Harry was to be one of the tributes. Ginny too. And Malfoy. His mentor was to be the incompetent Lockhart. Dobby had said that Harry being picked might not have just been random chance- that someone had purposefully put him in there. And the discussion with Professor Dumbledore and Snape, what was that about?

Harry mulled all of the information over in his head. Could he have been purposefully chosen for the Games? It didn't seem likely, but then again, Harry was already grasping the fact that most things in the Wizarding World seemed out of the ordinary. And if someone was out to kill him, then surely there was no easier way than to have him go head to head with twenty-seven other students in a death match?

But then there was what Dumbledore and Snape had discussed. Somehow, Harry had a strange feeling that they were talking about him. They mentioned the 'Dark Lord'- Voldemort? Was that what Dobby was trying to tell him? That Voldemort was trying to kill him? Was the dark wizard hoping to get his revenge for the defeat he suffered last year? Harry had hoped that Voldemort would be out of his life for a very long time.

Yet there was still one detail that Harry needed to consider, which he felt was the most ominous by far. It was a line delivered by the Headmaster, which appeared to be a quote from something. "And either must die at the hand of the other."

What did that mean? Harry rattled his brain, and easily put the pieces together. Surely it was saying... That he would be the one to kill Voldemort?

Or that Voldemort was to be the one that killed him.

That in itself was mind-blowing information. But it was something he'd have to process later, as the Games were now to take a priority in his life. But if Harry's hunch was correct, and that the two Hogwarts teachers were discussing him, and that Voldemort wasn't returning to power...

Did that mean that Harry would win the Games? If Harry and Lord Voldemort had to kill one another, then in end, neither would perish until the other fell? Was there some greater magic at work that would preserve Harry's life in the Games, make sure that he would come out as a Victor?

Harry took this news in stride. He was going to beat the Hunger Games. He was going to live.

But Ginny Weasley would die.

A knot tied in Harry's stomach. The other side of the coin. For him to win, everyone else would have to lose. Did this prediction of Dumbledore's, this prophecy, mean that all of the other participants were doomed to die? Ginny, his best friend's sister. Susan, who had lost the majority of her family in the First Wizarding War. Parvati, who had already lost her twin sister to the Games. Harry even felt pity for Malfoy, his sworn enemy.

No, he wouldn't allow that to happen. If it was the last thing he'd do, Harry was going to make sure he wouldn't be the only one coming out of the Games alive. That was a promise.

As the Common Room started to empty, Harry observed Hermione on her own, doing what appeared to be History of Magic homework. Every few seconds she'd look up at the entrance to the Common Rooms. Waiting for him, clearly. Harry wanted to go over and talk to her, to have her reassure him everything will be okay, that there's no way a magical prophecy could be keeping him alive. But at the same time, Harry knew he had to distance himself from her. From everybody. The closer he was, the harder it'd be.

And so he made his way silently up the staircase to his room and crawled into bed.

When Harry woke up the next day, he found himself alone, having outslept his dorm mates. This caught him off guard, considering that he'd already fallen asleep when he had been with Hermione earlier the previous day, and should've therefore had ample amounts of rest. He put it down to stress, shrugged off the abnormality, and set about getting ready. He was happy to find that a full tray of food was waiting patiently on his bedside table.

After gobbling down the meal appreciatively, Harry made his way to Lockhart's classroom. Upon entering, he found the other three Second Year tributes had already arrived. Harry wasn't sure what he'd missed, but the atmosphere in the room was unignorable. Padma had obviously been crying, and Draco looked as though he wanted to tear his hair out.

"Ah, Harry!" Came the voice of Harry's mentor, Gilderoy Lockhart, as he entered the room as well. "Pity, the cameramen have just left the castle. If you run, I'm sure you could catch up to them. In fact, I know the perfect incantation for the job, it was taught to me by an Irish monk in-"

Harry zoned out after this, but he had no doubt in his mind that the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was still talking. Despite all of his talk on this legendary incantation of his, it was never demonstrated and thankfully the cameramen never showed up.

Fast forwarding from a speech or two delivered by Lockhart about some of his greatest feats in the magical world, the wizard eventually got down to placing a box filled with tapes on the front desk next to a TV screen he had acquired. Each tape was labeled from 1 to 99.

Videos of the all of the previous Hunger Games.

"Well, there you go," Lockhart said, beaming that he'd managed to accomplish such a task as ordering a set of tapes. "I hope you find these informative- remember to keep a close eye out for tactics and techniques. I believe you'll find my Games particularly riveting. Now I must be off, places to go, wizards to see. Keep your wands to yourselves, and if anything goes wrong, Harry's in charge."

One last smile, and the Professor departed. However, as he opened the door, he looked over his shoulder and added, "There's already one in, by the way." And with that, he was gone.

"Well I for one don't care to see Lockhart's shocking performance," Draco announced, and went to eject the tape. He assumed, as did Harry, that Professor Lockhart had placed his own tape in first to further glamourise his glory.

However, Susan stayed his hand.  
"We need all the help we can get," she whispered, and hit the play button."

It immediately became apparent to Harry that this wasn't Lockhart's Hunger Games.

The video skipped all of the events before the Games- the interviews, the media discussions, everything. It got straight into the action. Twenty-eight students from the ages of eleven to seventeen stood in a circle of rocks in what was clearly a mountainous terrain. The camera focused on one individual in particular, a Third Year Hufflepuff student.

Cedric Diggory, Victor of the 99th Hunger Games.

The camera made sure to focus on each individual for about five seconds. The Gryffindor First Year tribute, Parvati Patil. Harry looked sideways at her twin sister Padma, who had burst into tears at the sight of her now deceased sibling. Susan was also shaken by this, and Draco had gone extremely pale. Looking back at the screen, Harry realised why.

For standing there was the First Year Slytherin tribute, Vincent Crabbe.

Harry realised that he'd gotten off pretty lucky in last years Games- that no one he knew or cared about had been entered into them. But for the people around him, that didn't appear to be the case. They'd lost close friends and family members. Their lives had been altered forever by the Games.

And, Harry also realised, if he were to win the Hunger Games, it would surely lead to many others feeling this pain, due to the deaths of the other tributes.  
The siren sounded, and in a moment wands were drawn.

The tributes had been in a pit of sorts- and each tribute had been placed at different heights within this bowl. Those near the top easily escaped. But for everyone else, the design of the Arena served only as their death trap. The ensuing bloodbath was difficult for Harry to watch.

Someone, who it was Harry didn't see, had managed to launch off a Blasting spell, which simply added to the chaos. Spells were being flung in every direction with no real targets in mind. Crabbe was killed within the first five minutes.

But Draco Malfoy had already left the room.

Parvati Patil managed to escape out of what seemed like sheer luck. The starting area had been placed halfway up a mountain which was surrounded by fields that gave little coverage. Those that had escaped the initial onslaught mainly hid themselves in the caves of the mountain, but Parvati had headed for the fields, and she was seemingly the only one to do this.

Those that had survived the wizarding duel within the 'bowl' quickly formed a Pack. Harry had heard of this many times, a bunch of tributes joining forces to hunt out the others, before turning on themselves. Over the next few days, the Pack went out hunting the survivors who hid within the caves.

It soon became apparent that the mountain was in actuality hollow, and that all of the caves were interconnected by a series of tunnels, though many were booby trapped. Several tributes were killed by these whilst navigating the tunnels in search of food, or simply died of starvation. At the heart of the mountain there was a stockpile of food and water which was guarded by a Sphinx, which killed two whom couldn't answer it's riddles.

The Pack found their way here however, and with a group effort managed to slay the magical creature. The next few days they simply camped out there, apparently thinking they could outlive the others with their supplies. None of them realised that Cedric Diggory had made his shelter in a nearby tunnel and was routinely sneaking in to steal food.

Two days later, the mountain erupted.

The majority of the Pack was killed by the volcanic action, though both a Sixth Year Slytherin and Cedric Diggory managed to escape the initial terror and make their way to the base of the mountain. The lava formed streams which conveniently forced the survivors together, and Harry doubted they formed like that naturally.

And so a final duel was held between Cedric Diggory and the Slytherin student. The older student had the advantage in terms of magical ability, but Diggory himself was quite adept, and also speedy. When he managed to explode his opponents wand, shattering his hand in the process, the battle dissolved into an all-out brawl. Cedric also found himself disarmed and resorted to fist fighting.

In this area, the Slytherin clearly had the upper hand.

Bleeding, bruised and running out of options, Cedric tried running. The Slytherin was close on his tail though, and rammed the Hufflepuff into a tree.  
A tree that had been the hiding place for Parvati Patil since the start of the Games.

She went to cast a spell but fumbled with her wand, and it slipped from her grip and landed between the two fighters. As they both gazed at the weapon, perplexed, Parvati launched herself from the tree branches, a self-sharpened stone in hand, and drove it into the head of the Slytherin student. Surprisingly, this didn't bring him down, despite a massive gash in his skull which was bleeding profusely.

As the Slytherin student grappled with the young Gryffindor that was on his back, Cedric scrambled for the wand. Spinning, he aimed at the Slytherin student and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

The Slytherin turned away at the last second, and the body of eleven year old Parvati Patil shielded him from the blast.

Realising what he'd done, Cedric staggered and then collapsed to the floor. But it was already over. The wounds that the Slytherin student had sustained, most noticeably the head injury, brought him down. As the student bled to death, Cedric cradled the young, dead body of Parvati in his hands, sobbing over what he had just done.

The tape finished.

Harry looked about the room. Susan was crying now, but none could look so distraught as Padma. But unlike Draco who had left immediately, she had chosen to watch the entirety of the video. To see the last moments of her sister, and of the great accomplishments she had made in the Games. Parvati Patil, who had made it down to the Final Three, and might've even won her Hunger Games.

Parvati Patil, who was accidentally murdered by the hands of Cedric Diggory. And Padma had sat there and willed herself to relive it. Suddenly, Harry felt a great pang of respect for the Ravenclaw.

* * *

_- Lythenia  
_

_You're not the only one looking forward to the actual Games, believe me. ;) Hopefully this chapter sustains your thirst for blood and violence for now, as I'm not too sure how long I'll wait before actually getting into the Arena. Let's face it, that's what we're all here for, but I also don't want to rush into things. In-universe, there's still six days to go until the 100th Hunger Games, but I'm sure it won't be too long until it starts!_


End file.
